AfterMath
by erbsen
Summary: Everyone thought their problems would be solved once they were rescued... for some, it will take a little adjusting...
1. Late Night

**DISCLAIMER:** I own nothing.

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Standing in front of that tall, dark door, he suddenly felt like a child, dragging his light blue blanket behind him with this thumb lodged between his lips.

But he would knock first this time, because he wasn't a child. He was almost seventeen.

"Eric?" came the tired mumble, followed by the shifting of sheets, and he put his hand on the cold knob.

"Can I come in?"

"What are you doing? It's three at night."

"I…"

He paused. What was he doing?

"I couldn't sleep. Can I come in?"

"Yeah, sure."

He pushed open the door and looked at his father, alone on that ridiculously oversized bed meant for two. Their faces were illuminated by the moonlight coming through the blinds—one wide-eyed and frightened, the other old and worn.

"What are you doing?" the older face repeated, squinting at the clock again. "It's three in the morning, Eric."

"I couldn't sleep."

"Did you take your pills?"

There was a pause, then, "Of course you didn't."

"I don't like them, dad," he said, stepping forward.

"Well, what do you want me to do about it?"

"I… I wanted to sleep in your bed. Like when I was younger? You remember, right? And mom would always rub my back so I'd relax and you—"

"You're mother's dead, Eric."

"I know, but I thought—"

"Eric, you're seven_teen_."

"I… I know, but—"

"Take your pills and go to sleep."

He didn't respond. He just tiptoed out of the room as quietly as he'd entered, careful not to trip over the basket by the door.

"You're seventeen, Eric," he told himself as he dug through the medicine cabinet. "Take your pills and go to sleep."

The little, white tablets looked so strange in his hand. The cabinet door swung shut and he was face-to-face with his reflection, the sad, teenaged face with the pimple fading right next to his running nose.

Was he crying?

Somehow realizing this made it worse and his lips began to tremble; his hands shook. He sniffed and reached for a tissue. He stuck one pill on the back of his tongue, took a sip of water, and willed himself to swallow.

One, two, three… _swallow_.

His head came forward, and coughing, the pill came out. Wiping his mouth, he pushed it down the drain and returned the rest to the bottle.

He couldn't do it.

Back in his room now, he grabbed his cell phone off the shelf and flipped it open. Colored an eerie blue from the glowing of the screen, his eyes scanned his list of contacts. There was one he wanted to think about, and while he was thinking, his thumb came around and pressed the little green phone. Steady ringing soon ate up the silence.

What was she to him? What did she matter? Why her?

Because he needed to talk.

To anyone.


	2. Early Morning

Melissa stared at the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck haphazardly to her ceiling. They'd been there since she was a kid, keeping everything a little brighter at night. Now, she just thought they were creepy, and she couldn't sleep.

Without sitting up, she reached over and pulled her cell phone off the dresser. It had been a couple of weeks and Jackson _still_ hadn't called. Her phone had to be on at all times, because if he did call, and if he did want to talk, she wanted to be ready.

She'd gone over a few conversations in her head already. He'd say, "Hey," and she'd respond with a happy, "What's up?" and then they'd talk about normal things, like homework, and fast food. Jackson liked McDonald's. She knew that because it was where they had their first real date. How romantic.

And then he hadn't called.

Of course, there was nothing stopping _her_ from calling him… except he hadn't given her a cell number and she was afraid to call his house. Afraid of what?

She didn't know. She didn't want to know.

As soon as she'd tossed the phone to the bottom of her bed, it began to ring. Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star. She sprung forward and opened it without checking the caller I.D. She was so sure. It had to be him.

"Jackson!"

"What?"

"Eric?" she asked, making a sorry attempt to blow long strands of black hair from her face. "It's… it's three in the morning…"

"Oh, don't pretend like you were sleeping."

"I-I was," she lied.

"You answered after one ring."

"Why are you calling?"

She hated him. She hated him. She hated him. Now more than ever. Why couldn't he have been Jackson?

"I couldn't sleep same as you."

"Wait… you have glow-in-the-dark stars too?"

There was a pause, then, "What?"

"Nevermind." Had that sounded crazy? The stars were keeping her awake. Didn't they keep everyone awake? "What's the matter?"

"I couldn't sleep."

"Eric, I'm not your mother. Aren't your pills working?"

She knew he was sick. She could see it in the way he moved at school, the way he looked at things. But she would never bail him out again. She hated him.

"I don't take them."

"Well, there's your problem."

"No, that's not my problem. What would the pills do? I need to talk to someone, Melissa, but no one wants to talk."

"That might have something to do with the hour, Eric."

"My dad made shrimp for dinner."

And there it was. The fear that would always rise up in her throat and force her to help him. Why did he always have to _do_ that?

"Melissa?"

"I… I heard you, Eric," she said, gripping her blanket as if it would make things better. "You didn't eat it, did you?"

"I gave it to the dog."

"Good." She could relax now. "Is that all you wanted to say?"

"No… I… I…"

"_What_, Eric?"

"I want to talk, Melissa."

"Talk to your dog."

"Very funny, Melissa," he replied, and he yawned. "My dog wasn't with us out there. I want to talk to _you_."

"Eric," she sighed, "it's three o'clock in the morning. I'm tired. I'm going to hang up now, okay?"

"Okay."

"I'll see you on Monday, alright?"

"Okay."

"Try to get some sleep, Eric, okay?"

"I thought you were going to hang up," he reminded her. Still the same smart-alec. Still the same Eric.

"I hate you," she hissed, trying to sound as convincing as possible.

"I _love_ you," he replied.

"Gosh, you're such a frustrating _jerk_!" she shouted into the phone. "I hate you! I hate you! I _hate _you!"

Silence.

"Eric?" she asked, worriedly before pulling the phone away from her ear and facing the blinking time of the ended call. He'd hung up almost ten seconds before she'd yelled at him. It wasn't enough that he'd _ruined_ her early-morning musings, he'd had the _guts_ to hang up on her. _She_ was supposed to have the last word, and how he was probably just _drowning_ in his ego.

He thought he was so smart! She hated him.

And as she contemplated throwing her phone out the window, it began to ring again.

"Eric, I _swear_—"

"What?"

"Jackson," she whispered, breathless. "Oh, my gosh! I'm so sorry, I thought—"

"It's okay, Melissa. Listen, I've got… a problem. You can drive... right?"


	3. Gentle

She wasn't sure why she'd come to Jackson's place. She wasn't even sure how she _knew_ this was his place. Well, his truck was in the driveway—at least, she thought it was his truck. She'd passed about fifty bajillion on her way down the street.

Maybe that was why she'd picked his porch. Because he was closer than Eric and Nathan, and she'd lost her shoes somewhere along the way. It was strange, because she didn't even care about the shoes. There was a part of her, really, that was _screaming_ about those shoes. Absolutely _wailing_. They were designer. A gift from daddy. You just got them, how could you lose them?

But that part was dulled somehow, and she contentedly dipped her little wand into the cheap bubble solution that had been passed out before the drinks. She could see rainbows swirling around between the wires when she pulled it out of the container and held it close to the light. She moved the wand close to her lips, and, cross-eyed, blew. Soap splattered all over her dress, and if there was a bubble, she certainly couldn't see it.

"You've got to be gentle, Tay," she heard her Daddy say. "Try again, but don't blow like your birthday candles, okay?"

She sighed and set the solution aside. Maybe that was why she'd picked his porch. She wanted someone who could understand and someone who would be gentle with her. She wasn't in the mood to hear how wrong she was, and being ridiculed wasn't exactly her aim either.

And just as she was thinking he might not be awake—it was awful dark outside—the door flung open and there he was.

"Taylor?"

"Long time no see, pookie," she giggled, fluffing her hair.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, and her smile only grew as she realized he was examining her new, red-satin cocktail dress.

"Isn't it _daring_?" she purred, sitting up straight and looping her thumbs under the skinny straps. She meant the neckline and he knew it. She could be very sexy when she tried.

"It certainly plunges," he replied. It was like something Eric would have said, and she was almost disappointed.

"Daddy bought it for me today… for my _birthday_," she told him. She didn't know why, either. She didn't think he cared.

"Happy birthday."

"Thank you."

"Taylor, what are you doing here?" he repeated, asking her face this time, rather than her chest.

"Don't be silly, Jackson," she laughed, slumping down again and pushing herself back and forth in the porch swing. If she had wanted to be annoyed, she could have just gone to Eric's house. "I wanted to see you, Mr. Jacksonator-_Awesome_-Man."

"No, really, Taylor," he persisted, "what are you doing on my porch?"

"Okay, fine," she pouted, blinking innocently up at him. If she had wanted a prude, she could have just gone to Nathan's. "The par-_tay_ I was at got totally busted by the _po_-lice. I escaped out the back door. It was, like, just down the street from here."

"You walked?"

"_God_, no!"

"Then where's your car?" he asked.

"It's at the party, duh," she said, giving him one of her infamous eye rolls. "I was _gonna_ go back for it, but you keep asking these dumb _questions_…"

"They're gonna know you were there because of your car, Taylor," he told her, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. She noticed he looked a little cold in just his boxers, and it was a pretty chilly morning.

"Nanny made me go out in a sweater. Do you want it?"

"No."

"No?" she asked, eyebrows raised, blindly trying to unclasp her purse. These things were so hard to undo in the dark, and the dying porch light really wasn't helping much. "It's designer. When's the next time you'll get to wear a designer sweater, Jackson? Hmmmm?"

"Listen, Taylor," he began, gently, but trying not to sound too sweet, she noticed, "how are you going to stay out of trouble? I mean…"

"Maybe I won't this time, Jackson," she sighed, shaking her hair in front of her face. She was tired now. His questions were wearing her out. "I don't really care."

"I'll give you a ride," he offered, and she blew her hair out of her eyes so she could see if he was really serious. "Don't look at me like that," he laughed. "I've got a nice car! Working radio, power windows…"

"Huh." She shook her head, and said, "That's a _truck_, you know, Jackson, not a car. A tr_uuuuu_ck."

"Eric drives a Jeep."

"Tr_uuuuuu_ck."

"Fine, then, I'm calling Melissa."

She blew at her hair again. _Now_? Was he serious? It couldn't be any later than three in the morning!

He was serious.

"Um! Um! _Ew_!" she protested.

"Taylor—"

"I mean, she's a _nice_ girl and all, and she's smart and fun in an eight-year-old-birthday-party kind of way… but what if she tries to _talk_ to me, Jackson?"

"I could call Daley," he suggested with a grin.

"You have Daley's number?" He couldn't be serious. He was bluffing. This time he _had _to be bluffing.

"I'm going to call Mel, okay?" he laughed, opening the door. "You'll be okay out here by yourself for a few, right?"

"I've got a sweater, remember?"

"I remember. Vuitton, right?"

"Merino," she laughed, "but close."

When he left, the part of her that had been screaming about her missing shoes started to complain about those soap spots on her dress that still hadn't dried and maybe they were going to stain, but soap was supposed to make stains go away, she thought. That part of her wasn't so dull anymore, and she was starting to worry about things again. The drinks were wearing off.

She was pacing by the time he finished his phone call. They were going to find her car at the party and maybe they'd find her lipstick on those cheap plastic cups and her shoes and she was going to get in trouble and Daddy would be so upset and—

"She'll be here in a few minutes, Taylor," he said, interrupting the screaming inside her head.

"Jackson, I didn't mean to get drunk!" she almost shouted, her eyes filling quickly with tears. "I just wanted to try it and they kept giving it to me and I think they were putting stuff in it but I'm sober now and I'm sorry and I'm too young to go to jail!"

"Breathe, Taylor. Just breathe a second, okay? Can you do that for me?"

She nodded, clamped her lips shut, and tried to calm down. He reached out and gave her arm a little squeeze and smiled.

"See, we'll get you through this," he told her. "Worse things could have happened, you know. There are some pretty bad people around here and—"

There wasn't even time for him to blink. Almost instantly, she had her arms around him and her lips pressed against his, her hands working their way up his back and coming to rest on his cheeks. Melissa wouldn't be there for another minute or so. There was still alcohol in her system. There was still time for her to do something reckless.

But before she was ready to pull away and catch her breath, the sound of a car in the driveway drove them apart and he was wiping at where her lipstick had smeared on his lips.

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**Thanks to everyone who has reviewed! :) This chapter is a little longer than the other two, but I hope you enjoy it all the same!**


	4. Kinda Cute

It always happened like this. Something good would happen, and he'd finally feel like he was getting back on track, and it would be followed by a series of mishaps that would eventually lead to relocation or another hearing…

Taylor looked like she was going to be sick or pass out or something like that, and he couldn't blame her, really. He was feeling pretty crappy, too, when he ran over to the car and knocked on her window.

She didn't look at him for a moment or two, and he had that awful, wrenching feeling like he'd just made a girl cry. Maybe he had. He couldn't tell.

"Melissa?"

Silence, and she undid her seatbelt, turned off the engine, and opened the door.

"Before you say anything, I'm sorry," he said, and he was, really. "I heard a noise and I came down and she was on my porch, blowing bubbles."

"Save it, Jackson," she sighed, getting out of the car. "When you said you had a problem, I thought _you_ had a problem."

"What else would you call her?" he asked, trying to make Melissa laugh. If she laughed, maybe he would feel better.

"Is she drunk?" she asked. She didn't laugh.

"I think so," he replied, wiping his mouth one more time just for good measure. She'd seen the whole thing, but if his lips weren't pink anymore, maybe she'd… forget. "She'll be out soon, but I thought it'd be best if she was home…"

"Couldn't you drive her?"

"Apparently," he chuckled, "she has a thing against my truck."

"Eric drives a Jeep?"

"Yeah, but that," he gestured to the old vehicle by the curb, "is a truck."

Silence, then, "How was your hearing?"

"Alright," he replied, shocked. "How'd you know about that?"

"There was a blurb in the paper last week," she told him, kicking a rock back into the grass. Suddenly, he was embarrassed by his lawn. "Eric wrote it."

"Why am I not surprised?" Jackson laughed, shaking his head.

"Give him some credit, okay?" she told him. "He made it seem like you rescue baby kittens from burning houses during lunch period. At least he didn't call you a criminal."

He didn't know why she was defending Eric, but he didn't mention it. After all, Taylor was on his porch.

"I'm not a hero," he protested. It was like he was disrupting some sort of balance, being the hero of people he'd never even considered talking to before. There was a line he just couldn't cross, and they kept bringing him closer to the limit. She kept bringing him closer.

"I know, Jackson," she said. "Let's just get her into the car so I can go home."

"Alright..."

He jogged back to the porch and she stayed behind and climbed back into the car and started the engine. He half expected her to drive away, but she was still there by the time he'd gotten Taylor to the driveway.

And he noticed that even Taylor was acting strangely. She'd practically thrust herself onto him earlier, but now she was being all modest about having to lean on him with his arm around her waist in case she fell. He didn't understand her. He really didn't.

"You know where she lives?" he asked, but she didn't hear him through the window, so he had to wait, awkwardly scratching the back of his head, until she'd rolled down her window. "You know where she lives?"

"Yeah, Jackson," Melissa said, checking her mirrors like a responsible driver. Most people wouldn't have done the same, and it made him laugh a little.

"What?"

"You check your mirrors."

"Yeah, and I wear my seatbelt," she said, putting the car in reverse, then looking up at him, her foot waiting to release the breaks. "It's better to be dorky than dead, okay?"

"No, no, no," he said, shocked she'd misunderstood him. "I wasn't laughing because it's dorky… I was… I was laughing because I think it's… kinda cute."

"Oh."

"I'm sorry, Melissa."

"Don't apologize, Jackson," she told him. "It was my fault for getting all defensive and stuff…"

"No," he laughed, "not about that. About _this_. I'm sorry."

"Oh."

"So… um…"

"I'm going to go now, Jackson," she said, pointing behind her with her thumb. "I'll see you on Monday, okay?"

"Okay."

He nodded and waited in the driveway, watching as she backed out and maneuvered around his truck and disappeared around the corner. He waited there, thinking, in his boxers until his foster mom opened her window, breaking the early morning silence, and called down to him.

"Jackson, baby," she said, tired, her hair standing in every direction, "what on Earth are you doing down there?"

"Just needed some air," he lied. "Go back to sleep, Nancy, okay? I'll be in in a minute."

When he finally turned around and headed back inside, he didn't feel so bad. Nothing had exploded, no one had died… He tiptoed up the stairs, being specially careful on the one that always creaked, and when he got to his room, he flipped open his cell phone and sighed.

Maybe it wasn't hopeless after all.


End file.
